Justified Means
by metallover
Summary: A powerful Xenos artefact lies all but forgotten on the dying world of Targia V, doomed to be consumed by the Tyranid swarms of Hive Fleet Leviathan. Inquisitor Rane Acerbus is tasked with retrieving the artefact with the assistance of a squad of Deathwatch Space Marines, the greatest warriors the Ordos Xenos can muster. *My entry into the 2015 Black Library Open Submissions*


**Author's Note**

**Here it is, ladies and gentlemen; my submission to the Black Library's open submission 'Deathwatch' period for 2015! *APPLAUSE* It's been three months already since I submitted it, so I'm assuming that they didn't want the story; whatever, in that case I'll just post it here! Because god forbid a month of my writing goes to waste… And on the off-chance someone from the Black Library actually reads this, for the love of the Emperor say the word 'publish' and this story comes down.**

**Honestly, it's been a long, LONG time since I've tried to write 40k. So I'm fully aware I made mistakes. This is kinda the draft version; I was going to touch it up again if I got the acceptance notice, buuuuuut since I didn't I deemed this story passable and posted it. I know I screwed up a few little things, and the whole Eldar thing at the end was going to be expanded upon... but meh. I deem it good enough. **

**I hope you all enjoy it!**

**Read, review and enjoy!**

* * *

**Justified Means**

* * *

High above the burning world of Targia V a lone black Thunderhawk descended, the boxy lander ignoring the gouts of bio-acid being shot up at it as it tore through the clouds at terminal velocity. The Inquisitorial servitor pilot helming the lander, blessed with far more advanced programing than its usual Astartes counterparts, veered and jinked to effortlessly avoid the projectiles being shot at it before disappearing into the relative safety of a low cloud formation.

The Thunderhawk emerged from the clouds a few moments later, Targia V's weak sunlight glinting dully off the golden 'I' symbol of the Inquisition emblazoned on the sides of the lander as it plummeted towards the surface in a controlled descent.

Beneath the lander the surface of the doomed planet writhed as billions of creatures, Tyranid bio-forms belonging to a splinter fleet of Hive Fleet Leviathan evolved for the single purpose of extinguishing all life and turning it into bio-fuel for their continual march across space. Some were only small, squirming and biting at the ankles of their larger brethren. On the horizon the towering forms of bio-titans ponderously marched across the landscape, consuming all in their path. A sea of glossy white flesh and dark purple chitin ebbed and flowed, breaking at last upon the final stronghold of humanity on the surface of Targia V; the planet's last Convent of the embattled Adepta Sororitas, the Emperor's Sisters of Battle.

Muzzle flashes and larger explosions could be seen all around the sturdy barricades and high walls as the warrior priestesses fended the xenos away from their sacred Convent halls. The continual barking of bolters sang out, accompanied by the familiar hiss of flamers and the cough of grenade launchers. Everywhere the red-armoured women stood Tyranids died by the hundreds, but more of the limitless horde always rose to take their place. The Sisters fought on in the face of certain death, having long ago given up on any hope of surviving the Tyranid attack. Their mandate was, as it always had been, to stand firm in the face of the Emperor's enemies and to lay down their lives without giving any ground. They would sooner perish than surrender the last of the Imperial land on Targia V, and not one among them would argue that decision. Those that had were already dead, consumed in the early days of the unwinnable war as Sisters Repentia, throwing themselves at their enemies with little more than their massive Eviscerator Chainswords for protection for their lack of faith. Only the most faithful, the most devoted to the Emperor's word, still stood against the Tyranid. Less than four hundred Battle Sisters against uncountable millions, singing their death-hymns at the top of their lungs with bolter and chainsword in His glorious name.

The six forms within the back of the Thunderhawk were oblivious to the cacophony beneath them, sitting with their heads bowed as they waited patiently for the shuttle to land. Six massive armoured forms, all smooth black lines and intimidating grill-faced helmets, sat staring at the floor of the lander. The smallest of the six wore different armour, the same 'I' symbol on the Thunderhawk proudly displayed on the man's ornate pauldrons and chest plate.

Inquisitor Rane Acerbus glanced up at the five Space Marines sitting around him, the auto-focus in his helmet's optics automatically compensating for his weak eyesight.

For his mission Rane had been assigned five of the Deathwatch Space Marines, warriors chosen from the ranks of the various Astartes Chapters to serve a term fighting for the Ordos Xenos of the Emperor's Inquisition. He would honestly have preferred to have taken a few squads of Kasrkin, or better yet Tempestus Scions, with him. He found it difficult to relate to the infallible Space Marines. He found it hard to understand them, and he didn't like things he didn't understand.

Rane had appropriately started his career as a clerk, working for various Inquisitors as a hunter of knowledge rather than a hunter of aliens or heretics. His eidetic memory made him perfect for the job, but it also exposed him to greater danger from corruption. He'd been taken under the wing of an Inquisitor Lord named Locke, and had quickly been pushed up the ranks to full Inquisitor once his talents had been discovered. Locke had made use of Rane's ability to memorize a map or segments of code in the field where the clerk had been forced to adapt to survive, learning to fight from the Inquisitor's other servants or face death.

Inquisitor Rane glanced up at the nearest Deathwatch Marine, the Ultramarine Orrus judging from his cobalt pauldron. He didn't trust the Astartes because he didn't understand them. In his opinion they were simply too far removed from humanity to do anything beyond carrying out their mission; Rane trusted that they would do that, at the very least.

The light at the back of the lander blinked out, before returning to life a deep, blood-hued crimson. In one swift movement the five Deathwatch marines stood, readying their weapons and turning to face the hatch, their movements reminiscent of some rehearsed dance. Rane was only a second behind them, muttering a quick prayer to the Emperor as he fell in at the back of the right hand line only a split second behind the Astartes.

The light blinked three times before turning green, and with a sudden lurch and jolt the Thunderhawk touched down, the ramp at the back practically exploding outwards and allowing the acrid stench of the battlefield into the climate-controlled interior.

Rane switched to recycled air with a flick of his eyes, not wanting to breathe any more Tyranid spores than he had to as he stomped down the ramp after the Deathwatch onto hard permacrete.

The Deathwatch spread out, weapons drawn and levelled dangerously at the edges of the landing pad not covered by the Thunderhawk's guns while Rane glanced around. A couple of wounded junior Sororitas were rushing towards the Thunderhawk, no doubt mistaking it for the first wave of their salvation. Rane hated to dash their hopes, but what he was there for was far more important.

"L-lord Inquisitor!" the oldest girl, her flak armour broken and mismatched as it practically hung off of her, stammered from behind a ridiculously over-sized bolter. "We knew the Emperor had not forsaken us! We knew someone would come!"

Rane clicked his tongue anxiously before activating his external speakers. They were little more than children too young to even wear a Sororitas' proper power armour, forced to fight or die…

"I need to see the Canoness of this Convent. Now," he said in his most authoritative voice.

The two junior sisters nodded, offering to lead the Inquisitor directly to her. Rane turned slightly and opened a private vox line.

"Potens, stay here and watch the Thunderhawk," he said. "Be prepared for a quick extraction if things go badly."

One of the Deathwatch marines, the one with the bright yellow Imperial Fists heraldry on his pauldron, nodded woodenly and moved to stand ready at the base of the Thunderhawk's boarding ramp. Judging from his body language Rane could tell the Imperial Fist was unimpressed with the order. Rane wasn't exactly thrilled at lowering his squad's fighting capacity by a fifth before they even encountered the Tyranid, either, but he wasn't about to leave his only passage, perhaps the last passage, off-world undefended.

The other four Deathwatch fell in behind Rane, stomping confidently behind the smaller Inquisitor as they were led through the ruined convent. A soft, rough laugh almost more akin to an animal's growl sounded across the squad's open channel as one of the Space Marines glanced around.

"They've done well," the Space Wolf, Olaf, commented idly beneath his helm. "For little girls, anyway."

Orrus actually cast the other Space Marine a sidelong glance in irritation.

"These 'little girls' have held out against an army of millions," the Ultramarine snapped. "Show some respect, Space Wolf, before I give you the whipping a disobedient hound deserves."

Olaf laughed loudly on the vox channel, his massive armoured shoulders shaking silently as they walked. Rane winced involuntarily and adjusted the volume on his own vox.

"Aye, sorry," he snickered. "I forget you Ultramarines get so touchy about Tyranids."

"Enough," Rane sighed, shaking his head as the squad continued to follow the oblivious girls.

The other two members of the squad, the Flesh Tearer Corpus and the Angels of Absolution Apothecary Gabriel ignored the bickering of their squad-mates, silently keeping pace with the Inquisitor.

As Orrus began to mutter excerpts from the Codex Astartes over the open channel in High Gothic Rane found himself thanking the Emperor that at least two of his squad were quiet.

* * *

"We are not here to retake this world," Rane sighed, running a gauntleted hand over his long silver hair. "Nor are we here to help you defend this Convent. We have our own mission to carry out, and it is of vital importance."

The Deathwatch squad and the Inquisitor had been led to the Canoness' war room, a space that was only identifiable as such rather than a chapel thanks to the auspex and vox units spread around the holographic map in the centre of the space. The rest of the small space was full of shrines and statues depicting either the Emperor or the Saints of the Battle Sisters orders, Saint Mina of the Order of the Bloody Rose featured prominently. This convent appeared to belong to said Order, if the iconography and the red armour was anything to go by. Around the room women clad in red robes or armour worked furiously at the machines, relaying intelligence to the squads manning the barricades and directing bombardments from their siege tanks with pinpoint accuracy.

There was a melancholy hanging over the room, though. All the women within knew without a shadow of a doubt that they were going to die in the next few days, and had all accepted that fate. Rane was slightly awed by their dedication and spirit to continue fighting.

The Inquisitor had removed his helm upon entering, showing proper respect for the Sororitas leader and the symbols of the Imperial Cult present in the room. Most of the Deathwatch marines left theirs in place, except for Olaf, who had seemed almost relieved for the excuse to remove his helm, shaking out a mane of long, mangy orange hair full of tribal braids and beads.

The Canoness, a steely-eyed woman pushing sixty, let out a soft sigh, the fleur-de-lys tattoo beneath her right eye twitching. She had introduced herself as Prioress Helena, speaking eloquently and calmly despite the tension in the room and the exhaustion clearly writ in her frame and features.

"I thought as much," she admitted.

Her voice was droning and gravelly coming through an artificial larynx, and Rane could see old scar-tissue on her neck beneath her red gorget.

"This world is doomed," she stated at last. "But we cannot allow those creatures to overrun this holy place."

"I understand," Rane said, pushing his round spectacles back up his nose with one finger. "But we must accomplish our mission if we are to prevent this from happening again on other worlds, and time is of the essence."

Helena looked up at Rane from beneath her brow, her focused gaze making the Inquisitor slightly uncomfortable.

"The Tyranids are close to leaving the planet," she said, her words coming out as a statement rather than a question.

"Yes," Rane said quietly.

"I have seen this before," she admitted, standing tall again. "These creatures will move on soon, and leave us for dead. They have consumed almost everything else, yes?"

"Almost everything," Rane assured her. "There is a section of deep jungle in the Southern Hemisphere that scans from space revealed is still mostly intact. That is where our goal is."

Helena nodded her understanding, bringing the area in question up on the hologram table. The image spluttered uncertainly for a moment until the Canoness brought her fist down on the edge of the table and the blue hologram snapped into focus, much to Olaf's apparent amusement.

"I know of the area," she muttered. "We conducted training missions there in the past. Before the Tyranids came it was an excellent place to train the Novice Advances before they earned their armour…"

Rane perked up at this revelation.

"So you have maps?" he asked quickly. "Intel? Anything that might expedite this task?"

Olaf sniffed contemptuously as he crossed his arms, the Space Wolf already having boasted at length of his tracking abilities now obviously feeling insulted. Rane ignored him as he looked expectantly at the Canoness.

"I will have one of my Sisters bring you the information before you depart," Helena nodded.

As if a signal passed between them one of the Sisters manning the auspex behind Helena rose and dashed out of the room.

"Thank you, Prioress," Rane said, inclining his head respectfully. "We will await them at our Thunderhawk."

"Emperor's speed on your mission, Inquisitor," Helena said dismissively.

A thought occurred to Rane as the older woman turned away, one that he couldn't help but act on.

"Prioress, our Thunderhawk is far from full capacity," he ventured. "If you have any wounded or any relics you would see taken safely off world…"

"Inquisitor, I must advise against such actions," Orrus said into Rane's vox-piece. "Not only will this delay our mission, we do not know when we will next make port, and the Sororitas could be aboard the _Pride of Vengeance _for-"

Rane cut the Ultramarine off with a hand gesture as Prioress Helena turned back to him, a small smile tugging at the corners of her tight mouth.

"I thank you for your mercy, Inquisitor," she said with evident relief. "I will have them gather at the landing pad immediately."

* * *

The Thunderhawk shuddered as it skimmed the treetops, random wind currents buffeting the craft as it made its journey above the jungles of Targia V. This close to Tyranid planet-cracking the wind currents were unpredictable and deadly, and it was a testament to the pilot-servitor's programing that the craft's passage was as smooth as it had been thus far.

Such was the fate of a world consumed by the Tyranid, though. The world's ecosystem was broken down as the very last nutrients were sucked out of the soil, creating weather anomalies all over the surface. Acid rain, disastrous earthquakes, tidal surges, these were just some of the effects on a consumed planet. Eventually the giant bio-titans would dig into the planet's crust, deep into the mantle and simply separate it, taking the very land itself for bio mass. But these things held no sway over Rane's mission, so they were unimportant information simply flitting about his mind as he attempted to calm himself.

Behind him in the cramped space twenty-six Battle Sisters were huddled or standing, the wounded clinging desperately to the relics of their lost convent, while those that were standing readied their own weapons. Twelve red-armoured Adeptus Sororitas Celestians had shown up in the form of the Canoness' 'map data', much to Rane's pleasure. After all, more bodies held more guns, and against the Tyranids that was not a bad thing by any means. According to Helena these Celestians were the ones usually responsible for running the training operations in the jungle. They had spent nearly a month leading other squads against the Tyranids beneath the humid canopy before they had been recalled to assist with the siege.

The Celestian Superior, a shaven-headed woman easily twice the size of Rane outside of his power armour named Sister Moro, looked up to the Inquisitor, jabbing her finger down roughly onto the flimsiplast map sitting on the crate between them.

"Here are the ruins you seek," she said, her melodious voice at odds with her dangerous appearance.

"Here is the closest possible landing site," she added, jabbing her finger down again some distance away. "There is atmospheric interference near the objective that has always prevented us from landing near it."

A thoughtful sound came from over Rane's shoulder as Orrus leaned in to take a look.

"With the current level of Tyranid infestation on this world that will be a deadly crossing," the Ultramarine muttered, rubbing his bare chin in thought as the weak illumination glinted off the three service studs embedded in his brow beneath close-cropped blonde hair.

"We will need to move quickly. The forest will already be heavily terraformed by the xenos bio-organisms."

"I'll get my axe. Anyone else want anything?" Olaf said happily, shouldering his bolter as he navigated the press of Battle Sisters between himself and the weapons locker near the cockpit.

"Chainsword," Corpus growled, his voice metallic and cold through his helmet's vox system.

Olaf glanced over one massive shoulder curiously before his face split into a massive grin at the Flesh Tearer's request.

"Oh, I have just the thing for you," the Space Wolf promised, resuming his slow journey through the press of bodies.

Gabriel glanced up as the other Astartes passed, pausing the operation of his Apothecary's narthecium from where he was properly suturing closed a hastily stitched wound on the arm of one of the wounded Sororitas. His face was unreadable in the shadows beneath his dark hood before he went back to his work, tending to the wounded alongside the single Sister Hospitaller that had joined them while they were in transit.

"Potens, I want you equipped with melta bombs," Rane ordered over his shoulder.

The Imperial Fist barely glanced up from his position at the back of the craft as he grunted and indicated to his equipment belt, already festooned with various explosives and grenades. Before Rane could add anything else the lights in the Thunderhawk went down, replaced by a deep neon red that indicated that they were almost at their destination.

"We will lead the way through the jungle," Moro offered, cocking her bolter as she turned towards the door. "Keep close and maintain constant vox contact."

Rane slipped his spectacles into the pouch at his hip before pulling his helm back into place. There was a brief moment of silent darkness as the connections reset, before he was bombarded with information all at once as the optics snapped to life. A warning light flashed in the corner of his visual from the pilot servitor, advising him of heavy hormagaunt presence in the landing zone. Rane could already feel the autoguns on the belly of the ship blasting away at their enemy.

"You heard the Celestian, Deathwatch," Rane said into his vox. "Follow their lead. Equip helms and breathers, I don't want any spore infections. Prepare for combat, we're coming in hot."

"Spores won't be a problem for us," Olaf snickered, reappearing and tossing a massive chainsword to Corpus.

Corpus caught the weapon in one hand, examining it for a moment before nodding in satisfaction and joining Potens at the ramp. The Space Wolf grinned savagely as he hefted his own weapon, a large two-handed power-axe with a head fashioned in the shape of a snarling wolf's maw.

"Follow the order, Brother," Orrus deadpanned as he snapped his own helmet into place with a hissing of compressed air.

"Not your brother, Ultramarine," Olaf growled, his grin momentarily dropping and his eyes flashing violently.

Both men went still, tensing and preparing for imminent violence as neither backed down. Before either warrior could make a move the Thunderhawk shuddered as it landed and the warning light went green.

"And now we're out of time!" Olaf laughed, his mercurial personality shifting again as he bounded towards the lowering ramp.

The Space Wolf howled his Chapter's animalistic warcry as he pushed through the Battle Sisters and passed Potens and Corpus, emerging axe-first onto the jungle floor. Orrus cursed something particularly foul in High Gothic, following after Olaf beside Gabriel, his own helm back in place beneath his voluminous hood.

"Sisters! In the Emperor's name, kill the xenos!" Moro roared, her voice amplified by the vox unit in her own helmet as she charged down the ramp.

Her entire squad repeated the short battle-prayer, chasing after her into the forest.

"Keep the engines running and be prepared for a hot evac," Rane ordered to the pilot servitor as he strode towards the ramp himself after the Sororitas.

The Inquisitor took one final deep breath before stepping down into the jungle, the Thunderhawk's landing ramp rising back into a secure position behind him. With quick flicking motions Rane drew his two favoured snub pistols from either side of his hips and began to shoot indiscriminately towards the Tyranid horde being driven back. He preferred the smaller weapons over bolt-pistols or lasguns, if only because he could still use them without his power armour. The grips were inlaid with polished wood from a world somewhere in the Sabbat Sector, and the weapons themselves were perfectly moulded and balanced to his grip, a final gift from his mentor upon his instatement to full Inquisitor.

Even with his helm's advanced optics Rane couldn't quite make out the forms of the quickly retreating Tyranids as the Space Marines and Battle Sisters drove them back. A wave of pale white flesh and purple chitin so dark it was almost black; that's all the enemy was to him so far. He had seen picts, images of Tyranids dissected in Ordos Xenos labs that pointed out their weaknesses and strengths, yet this was the first time that he had faced them on the field.

Rane was surprised to realise that he already hated the creatures.

A brief silence fell on the clearing for a moment, the only sounds the rustling of foliage and the soft clinking of shells as the Deathwatch cautiously advanced. Orrus looked down at his hand-held auspex unit for a moment before nodding and reattaching the machine to his belt.

"Clear," he called.

Olaf shook the hair out of his face as he sauntered back towards the others from where he'd been closer to the forest, his black armour almost dyed purple with Tyranid ichor that was likewise still dripping off the blade of his axe.

"First blood to me, then?" he asked the other Space Marines goadingly.

"Idiot!" Orrus snapped, suddenly grabbing the Space Wolf by the gorget and dragging him close. "You were given a direct order! The Codex Astartes states-"

"Let me go, Ultramarine, before I tear your arm off and beat you to death with it," Olaf snarled, his axe appearing beneath Orrus' helmed chin.

"Enough!" Rane shouted, his voice amplified by the speakers in his own helm. "We do not have time for this! I am repealing my order; anyone that does not want to wear a helm can get spore infections, I no longer care as long as we achieve our objective. Now both of you stand down before I shoot you!"

Both Space Marines stared at the Inquisitor, the smaller man practically quaking with rage as he pointed one ornate pistol at each of them. Orrus was the first to move, releasing Olaf with a not-so-subtle shove backwards before muttering something else in High Gothic.

"You would need more than a snub pistol to get through the Space Wolf's thick skull," he said at last before turning on a heel and stomping over to where Potens and Gabriel were on over-watch.

"Heh, the Ultramarine made a funny," Olaf chuckled to himself, moving to the opposite side of the clearing to wait with Corpus.

"Emperor preserve me from the over-inflated egos of the Astartes," Rane muttered, turning back to where Moro's squad were waiting patiently.

Each woman had her weapon trained on the forest around them in a perfect arc, compensating for any spot that the Deathwatch could possibly miss. Sister Moro glanced up at Rane, her bolt pistol lowering as she tapped the side of her helm, opening a secure channel to him.

"Are those two going to be a problem?" she asked, her voice even.

"No, they just like grand-standing," he sighed in response. "Which is exactly why I prefer to work with soldiers like you and your Sisters, Celestian."

Moro visibly inflated with pride at the Inquisitor's compliment, the effect he was aiming for with his statement, as she turned and began to issue orders to the rest of her squad.

"It's not far to the ruins, lord-Inquisitor," she said to him once her orders were given. "Please stay close to me; the jungle can be treacherous, even without the Tyranids."

* * *

Rane glanced around warily, eying the dark jungle around them as the Inquisitorial party advanced. Bioluminescent lichens gave off a faint bluish glow which, coupled with the moonlight, was more than enough for the low-light filters in the Inquisitor's helm to enhance effectively. The orange glow in the sky, created by the planet burning in the distance, lingered above them, adding a sense of urgency to their mission.

The Tyranid bio-organisms had yet to attack again, although Olaf had stopped a few times to sniff, testing the air like a hound, and glance around before muttering something in his native Fenrissian tongue. Rane didn't have to know the language to know it meant something along the lines of 'we're being followed'.

Fortunately the Sororitas were keeping their composure, watching all angles as the group advanced and covering all possible avenues of attack. Rane eyed the Deathwatch marines leading the journey; Orrus, Potens and Gabriel, smashing through the dense foliage as if it were nothing beneath their armoured feet like three black ceremite battering rams, a handheld auspex unit in the Ultramarine's grip lighting up his helm from beneath in a disquieting fashion. Corpus brought up the rear, occasionally revving the engine of his borrowed chainsword impatiently while Olaf flitted all over the formation, checking tracks in the forest and continually testing the air. They had been travelling through the forest for nearly an hour now, and by Rane's reckoning they should had almost arrived at their destination.

The Inquisitor was so busy watching everything around him that he almost walked directly into the back of Olaf, who had stopped dead and was staring intently into the forest.

"What are you-" Rane started, his voice trailing off as he finally saw what the Space Wolf was grinning so madly at.

Staring at Rane out of the trees were dozens, if not hundreds, of flashing yellow eyes. Without warning Olaf threw back his head and let out a terrific wolf howl of a challenge, bringing the entire party to a stop in utter shock. As one a wave of chitin and claws crashed out of the trees all around the group, plummeting out of the canopy or rising up out of the bushes around them. Olaf's howl gave way to manic laughter as the Space Wolf began to practically throw his axe around, striking the encroaching horde with all the subtlety of a loosed attack dog.

"To arms, sisters!" Moro roared, the Sororitas' voice echoing around the forest over the bolter-fire. "Purge the xenos in the Emperor's name!"

Rane raised his own pistols, conscious of the warning lights flicking to amber in the corner of his helm's readout warning him that his pulse was elevated. Adrenaline flooded the Inquisitor's system as he opened fire, placing pinpoint shots into the heads of leaping hormagaunts and finally getting a good look at the creatures in person.

Small beady eyes set beneath a ridge of hard purple carapace glared with animalistic fury at the trespassers in the jungle, snarling jaws full of needle-sharp teeth slavering and clicking as they charged directly into the line of fire. Simply by existing the creatures literally made Rane sick to his stomach as he killed them.

"Watch for the synapse creature!" Orrus roared over the weapons-fire. "When you see a big one shoot it!"

Rane nodded, his gaze travelling a little higher than the diminutive swarm of xenos being torn to shreds by the concentrated fire of the Deathwatch and Sororitas bolters. The Ultramarine was the resident Tyranid expert, having fought against the creatures as they had invaded the deserts of Macragge; that was the reason he had been chosen as Captain for the Deathwatch squad over the older Gabriel, because of his experience with the xenos creatures.

A larger Tyranid bio-form should be somewhere nearby psychically directing the smaller creatures; if they could find that and kill it then the gaunts would be broken and useless…

Rane's thought process was broken as he heard a feminine scream, one of Sister Moro's squad going down under a mountain of chitin and scything claws at the back of the group.

"Cover me!" Gabriel shouted, the Angel of Absolution breaking his position in line and falling back.

Potens stepped to one side to fill the gap as he pulled a bolt pistol off his hip, blasting with his bolter in one hand and the pistol in the other, the break in firing lasting barely a second.

Rane moved to assist the fallen woman, too; he wasn't part of the actual firing circle, left in the middle instead, so his passing left no gaps. Gabriel crossed the space in two bounds, the small chainblade on the end of his narthecium revving to life as he began hacking at the hormagaunts that had broken the line, their claws still buried in the fallen Sororitas' chest and stomach. The massive Apothecary made short work of the creatures as Rane filled the fallen woman's position in the line, trying and failing not to be disturbed at the sight of the mangled body at his feet as he began to shoot at the Tyranids.

The Sororitas was, surprisingly, still alive despite her massive injuries. The hormagaunts' razor sharp scything talons had torn through her power armour like it was tissue paper, and the majority of her organs had spilled onto the forest floor at Gabriel's knees. The Apothecary took one look at the hyperventilating woman as she went into shock, and with a swift movement broke her neck with one hand, ending her suffering.

"There was nothing I could do," he said onto the open band, rising to his feet.

Rane glanced over his shoulder, momentarily pausing in his shooting as his mouth opened to respond to Gabriel's comment, and was instantly knocked into the air by something much larger than he was. The smaller man's body was smashed into Gabriel's armoured form, both of them sent flying over the firing line and into the jungle like rag dolls thrown by a spoiled child.

"Prime!" Orrus shouted in warning. "Concentrate your fire! Don't leave our flanks open! Take it down!"

Rane only barely registered the Ultramarine's shout over the vox as his head spun, a warm dampness trickling down his face indicating some form of head trauma. He didn't need to look at the blinking warning lights in his peripheral vision to know his armour had taken serious damage, either. Across from him Gabriel shot to his feet, shaken but undeterred after losing his bolter, tearing off his own damaged helm and casting it aside as he snarled at the creature crashing through the trees at them. Rane had just enough warning to roll to the side, coming up to his knees as a massive Tyranid stomped through the space he had just been lying face-down in.

The Tyranid was an evolved form of a Warrior-type, if Rane's knowledge was correct. The thick plates on its chest and shoulders were different to the usual genus', though, identifying it as a Warrior-Prime.

Looking up at the creature Rane felt his blood run cold; it was easily twice his size, towering over even Gabriel as the Apothecary revved the chainblade on his narthecium to full speed, reaching for his plasma pistol with his free hand. The Space Marine never got the chance to use his gun, both hands coming up to fend off the bone swords flying at him instead, the pistol falling to the side lit and glowing with a faint purple light, but unused.

Rane watched as Gabriel swatted the two blades aside with nothing but his hands before leaping backwards to avoid the two in the Prime's lower set of arms, crashing through the small tress as he went. In an act of desperation the Apothecary lifted one of the larger trees he'd felled, bringing it up and using it to try and keep the massive Tyranid at bay for a few moments by jamming it into the Prime's chest.

Rane was momentarily distracted from the duel as he lurched to the side, suddenly beset by the hormagaunts in the jungle. One of the creatures was growling in his face, the sound closer to a strange chirping bark, as it raked its scything talons down his armour trying to get to his flesh beneath, but fortunately the black plates were tougher than Tyranid chitin and held. Rane brought his arm around, smashing the smaller Tyranid in the side of the head with the butt of his snub-pistol, making space between them and jamming the weapon against the hormagaunt's neck before pulling the trigger three times. The thick, solid bullets tore through the soft flesh easily, showering Rane in a torrent of purple viscera and all but severing the creature's head.

He shoved the corpse off of him and climbed unsteadily to his feet, his ancient power armour protesting his every movement. His right leg felt heavy, and the readout in the corner of his vision told him that the servos in his back that controlled the leg were damaged. Fortunately his power unit was undamaged, meaning that at least his air scrubbers were still working. The readout also showed other areas that had taken minor damage, nothing that would slow him down as much as his leg, though. With a sad realization Rane noticed that he'd also lost one of his prized pistols at some point.

A keening wail brought Rane's attention back to the melee before him as Gabriel drove his chainblade into the Prime's shoulder just beneath one of the bony plates. The creature had lost one of its lower arms and its left upper arm hung bloody and useless at its side as it clawed and slashed at the Apothecary dancing around its blows. Rane marvelled at the skill of the Deathwatch marine, stunned that an unarmed Astartes could do such damage to a Warrior-Prime.

But Gabriel was slowing, and he was wounded now, too. Great gouges had been torn from his armour, blood seeped from the deepest of them and a cleft had been carved into his right pauldron, the silver symbol of the Inquisition on it cut almost clean in half. Still, though, the Apothecary fought with fire in his eyes, deflecting the remaining bone swords with open palms faster than Rane's eyes could follow, the sound of ceremite gauntlets meeting hardened bone ringing through the forest so loud that Rane could feel it in his diaphragm as a physical sensation.

Limping slightly Rane moved towards the Prime, set on killing the creature and severing the hormagaunts' synapse link. He checked the loads of his remaining pistol before emptying the clip into the Prime's back, aiming for the gaps between the plates of purple chitin where white flesh practically glowed in the weak night light.

A string of purple craters appeared on the Prime's back, and with another shriek, this time more annoyed than pained, the Prime lashed out without turning, a barbed tail crashing into Rane's stomach hard enough to wind him through the power armour and send a web of cracks through the plates beneath the blow. Alarms blared in his ears again as the Inquisitor was sent flying for a second time in as many minutes, skidding to a stop on his face not far behind Gabriel.

The Angel of Absolution didn't spare the Inquisitor a glance as he pressed his attack on the wounded Prime, lunging with his chainblade again and again in an attempt to eviscerate the creature. The Prime snarled, snapping its jaws at Gabriel as it reached forward and caught the Space Marine's limb with its wounded arm. Gabriel beat relentlessly at the limb pinning him, each blow shattering bone and reducing flesh to pulp, but still the Tyranid held on as it raised its final bone sword in its other upper-arm, preparing to carve the Apothecary clean in half.

Gabriel looked up, roaring his defiance in the face of death as the Prime's blow descended, but the attack never landed. With a blinding flash of white light and another pained shriek from the Prime its arm vanished in a mist of purple blood and bone fragments, Rane panting on his knees as he held Gabriel's still smoking plasma pistol in both hands. A second passed before Rane leapt to his feet and pulled the trigger again, the weapon bucking as it fired a blast of super-heated plasma that hit the Prime square in its face, leaving nothing but a set of smouldering shoulders and a cauterized stump in its passing. The Apothecary and the Inquisitor stood there for a few seconds, catching their breath. Gabriel finally nodded, moving first as he stomped over to Rane.

"Good shot," he said gruffly as he approached the shell-shocked Inquisitor.

Rane jumped a little, glancing up at the Deathwatch marine before shaking his head and offering up the massive pistol.

"Not really," he said. "I was aiming for its chest."

Gabriel snorted, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards for the briefest of seconds as he accepted his weapon back.

"These older models have a habit of jumping when you fire them hot," the Angel of Absolution said matter-of-factly. "It was still a good shot."

Rane nodded woodenly, eying the rapidly cooling corpse of the Tyranid Prime as he climbed unsteadily to his feet. He'd never been so close to death before, and despite all of his Inquisitorial training he was still rattled.

"These foul xenos are an abomination," Gabriel muttered, passing his narthecium over Rane a few times. "They are an affront to all that the Imperium of Man stands for. You did well to kill this creature, Inquisitor."

The small screen on the narthecium lit up for a moment, information concerning Rane's injuries taken from his armour with Apothecarion override codes flashing across it before Gabriel's face.

"Fortunately you are not seriously injured," Gabriel went on. "However you are dangerously close to slipping into a state of shock. I need you to calm down and breathe slowly. You are alive and well, and are momentarily safe, but we need to regroup. Can you walk, Inquisitor?"

Rane nodded, finally tearing his eyes away from the Prime's corpse. He took a few deep breaths, willing himself to calm down before nodding again.

"Good," Gabriel nodded, giving Rane a nudge with his armoured hand. "Let's rejoin the others."

* * *

Rane brushed some leaves out of his path, stepping into a clearing created by a hail of bolter-fire and repeated blasts from a flamer. Each step he took crunched on the corpses of Tyranid bio-forms that had fallen to the weapons of the Deathwatch and the Sororitas, the killing field nearly ten metres wide in every direction. Without the synapse creature maintaining their link to the malign intelligence known as the Hive Mind the hormagaunts had reverted to their base instincts and fled, offering the warband a brief respite.

Olaf glanced up from where he was squatting with his axe resting against his shoulder, his curious face breaking into a grin as Rane and Gabriel approached.

"Well, you are still alive!" the Space Wolf said happily. "Damn. I owe Corpus a drink now."

The Flesh Tearer glanced over from where he was standing on the other side of the clearing, his bolter pointed out towards the forest. Rane couldn't tell, but he was pretty sure that the other marine was grinning beneath his helm, too.

"Wounded?" Gabriel asked, rushing past Olaf and towards the knot of Sororitas being protected by the Space Marines.

"Aye," Olaf shrugged lazily before going back to watching the forest. "Ask the Ultramarine."

Rane watched the Apothecary move to the sides of the wounded Sororitas, ignoring his own injuries as he set to work on theirs.

"The Angel's got a pole up his arse about the xenos, eh?" Olaf chuckled, eying Gabriel before glancing up at Rane. "You alright, Inquisitor? Was a pretty nasty-looking fall you took."

"Falls are vertical. I flew horizontally," Rane muttered absently, studying the surroundings.

The Space Wolf laughed, rising and stretching beneath his black armour before clapping a hand on Rane's shoulder.

"Yeah," he said. "You're fine. The Celestian Superior was hit. It'd probably make her day if you went and 'commended her heroism under fire' or whatever it is they like. She probably won't last much longer."

Rane nodded once before walking past the Deathwatch marine and heading to the centre of the small clearing. He paused momentarily when he passed a small pile of three red-armoured forms, the fallen from the encounter. Rane resisted the urge to sigh, forcing his damaged armour to keep moving until he was standing over the wounded next to Gabriel. The light on the Apothecary's power-pack cast a harsh white halo about the two sisters on the ground; one of which was stabilized now as another of the Sororitas filled the gaps in her armour with grey liquid ceremite to re-establish its integrity.

"Inquisitor," Sister Moro, the other wounded form, muttered wetly. "I apologize. The… xenos came at me from… above… let them get… the better of me…"

Rane nodded woodenly, blinking and twitching his eyes to open a private vox line to Gabriel.

"Is she going to make it?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

The black armoured form sat back on his haunches, flicking the blood off of his hand and narthecium.

"If I could get her back to the convent and into a clean-room? Yes," he said, his voice heavy. "She won't live unless she gets the spores cleaned out of her system. There's nothing more I can do for her here except administer something for the pain, but… She's in shock. The drugs would kill her anyway. As she is, she will only last another few minutes."

Rane nodded again, taking a deep breath and sighing. He knelt down by Moro's side and reached up, unclasping his helm and pulling it over his head, ignoring the warnings on his visual readout about the contaminated atmosphere. His silver hair fell down around his face, lank and thick with sweat and blood from his head-wound. The first thing he noticed was just how hot it was outside of his armour, the stagnant jungle air thick with the cloying smell of gunpowder and blood.

He needed to maintain the morale and cohesion of the remaining Sororitas. If that meant exposing himself to some spores, he would just endure the treatments when he returned to his ship.

"You fought bravely in the Emperor's name today, Sister Moro," Rane said, his soft voice almost lost in the night without his armour to amplify it.

Moro nodded and gasped, choking on her own blood from her punctured lungs. With shaking, gauntleted hands she pulled something on a thin silver chain out of her armour, her weak fingers struggling with the clasp before she coughed and snapped the little chain, holding it out to Rane. He accepted the gift, holding a small silver pendant shaped like the two-headed Aquila of the Imperial cult up to the light.

"May he watch over you, as you watch over my sisters," Moro choked out, her voice surprisingly clear as blood bubbled up from between her lips.

Rane nodded, carefully placing the pendant into the pouch with his spectacles before pulling his helm back on. Moro smiled weakly before she convulsed, her broken lungs unable to take in any air around the liquid filling them. Her eyes widened as she spat up more of the red viscera until Gabriel reached out, holding her down with one hand while he slid a needle into her heart with the other, administering a fatal dose of analgesics to her already overburdened system.

"Rest now, Sister," the Apothecary muttered as Moro finally went still, the light fading from her eyes. "We will see to your squad."

"We need to keep moving," Orrus said over the vox. "Plant an incendiary grenade on the bodies so that the Tyranids can't use them as bio-mass and let us continue on our mission before something even bigger finds us."

Rane rose to his feet and signalled his acknowledgement, glancing over to the remaining eight Sisters waiting with their weapons trained on the dark jungle around them. One of the sisters glanced over to him and gave a subtle signal to the woman next to her before withdrawing from the line, the gap being filled almost instantly.

"Milord," she said, bowing her helmed head.

"Who is in command of your squad now?" Rane asked quickly. "We need to keep moving."

Behind Rane Gabriel carefully lifted Moro's body and placed it with the others, Potens tossing the Apothecary a red-marked grenade.

"You are, Inquisitor," the Sister answered without hesitation. "Celestian Moro's dying words were clear."

Rane nodded, frowning inside his helm. He was unaccustomed to command, usually only operating with his small warband. Even during big missions he left troop dispositions to their respective commanders, choosing to trust in those gifted with command rather than usurp it with his Inquisitorial authority. He found that soldiers often fought better alongside the Inquisition, rather than for it.

"Very well," he said aloud. "Make ready to continue to the objective."

Rane paused, glancing at the wounded sister climbing shakily to her feet.

"Will she be able to keep up?" he asked.

"Sister Olivia is strong, lord Inquisitor," the woman talking to him said. "She will keep up."

"What's your name, Sister?" he asked, turning back to the red-armoured form in front of him.

"Sister Lucia, milord," she answered, bowing her head again.

Rane quirked one brow beneath his helm; it was hardly rare for Imperial citizens to be named after saints, however for a Sister of one Sororitas Order to be named after the founding saint of another was quite strange.

"Sister Lucia, if you wish to perform any last rights for your comrades I suggest you do it now before we cremate them," Rane said as kindly as he could.

Lucia shook her helmed head, holding her bolter to her chest at the ready.

"They died in the Emperor's service," she said in a reverent voice. "They could ask for no better eulogy."

Rane nodded, signalling that it was time to keep moving.

"Light them up," Orrus voxed. "Once you do be prepared to face opposition. The xenos are attracted to the light."

Gabriel nodded, depressing the arming button on the small cylinder and placing it in Sister Moro's hands before stepping back. There was a hiss and a flash as the grenade detonated, Rane's optics darkening to adjust for the sudden brightness as the incendiaries within the grenade burned away the bodies of the fallen. Orrus used his auspex to get their bearings, and the group started walking again. The Sororitas were bunched around Rane, Lucia leading the group while the Deathwatch Space Marines made a rough pentagon around them with Orrus at the tip.

At the rear left corner Olaf lingered a moment and glanced into the forest, his eyes flashing in the low light.

"Keep up, Space Wolf!" Orrus barked.

"Move faster," Olaf grunted, falling back into his position. "They're already hunting us again."

* * *

Rane cast his gaze upwards at the towering stone ruins as the small group came out of the jungle at last. Giant stone blocks had been stacked on top of each other to form a single lonely ziggurat in the middle of the jungle, the darkened entrance to which was yawning before them. The jungle seemed to just stop fifty meters away from the structure, thick foliage suddenly giving way to rough dirt where nothing grew. Even the stones, while old and weatherworn, had no moss or creepers growing on them. Time seemed to stand still for the stone edifice, which told Rane everything he needed to know.

Gabriel, having never recovered his helm, spat into the dirt and made the sign of the Aquila across his chest.

"The stink of warpcraft is strong here," he warned.

"Good," Rane said, striding forward. "That means we have found what we were looking for."

He hesitated halfway to the temple, turning back to address the squads following him.

"Sister Lucia, I want you with me," he said. "Potens, you and the rest of the Sisters watch the entrance. Keep our exit route clear."

The Imperial Fist nodded, moving to stand just before the entrance with his bolter at the ready as Lucia stepped forward.

"In Saint Mina's name I serve," Lucia intoned, moving to Rane's side. "But will they be enough to hold the exit?"

"I will be plenty," Potens promised over the vox, his gravelly voice totally self-assured.

Rane shrugged as the rest of the Deathwatch squad closed in.

"Let us end this, then," Gabriel snapped. "The sooner the better."

Corpus nodded his agreement as Orrus and Olaf stepped towards the ziggurat's opening. Rane's optics struggled in the pitch darkness, unable to find any light at all to enhance; a trick done on purpose by the ziggurat's original inhabitants, no doubt.

"Warpcraft," Gabriel repeated, activating the light on his power pack again.

The single white beam played over the abandoned entry hall they found themselves in, dancing over old abandoned tools and other debris. Gabriel's light panned upwards slightly, illuminating the nearest wall. Rane's eyes widened and he sucked in a breath as he rushed over to the wall, feeling his heartrate spike again. Crude carvings, filled in with ochre paint from the jungle were still preserved, and he began recording his visual feed to study properly later. The scenes on the wall showed humans toiling and worshipping taller, thinner creatures in domed, pointed helms. One of the creatures stood above the rest, his sword and helm easily distinguishing him from the others; a four-pronged antler-like helm was displayed prominently in other places, as well as a sword that the ancient humans obviously believed held magic powers of some unexplainable origin.

"I knew that they interacted with humans in the past," Rane muttered excitedly, forgetting he had the vox set to the open band.

But this edifice had obviously been constructed by ancient humans. Had they done so under duress, or as worship for the helmed creatures in the paintings? He dearly wished for more time to study such a rare archaeological find, but would have to content himself with the vid feed he was recording.

"Inquisitor Acerbus?" Orrus asked curiously as the four marines and Sister Lucia waited patiently for him.

"Nothing," Rane said quickly, moving further into the ziggurat. "We need to keep moving."

After some quick searching Rane found a single opening leading further into the structure that would eventually lead the team further into the ground beneath the jungle. They walked cautiously through the darkness for a time, waiting for some Tyranid to leap out at them. Potens regularly checked in, reporting sighting Tyranid in the jungle, although none of the creatures seemed brave enough to enter the dead space around the temple.

The small squad stopped suddenly, faced with an impassable block wall.

"A dead end?" Orrus asked, placing one hand against the rough stone. "Were there any branching pathways?"

Gabriel shook his head, the beam of light bobbing with his movement.

"None that I saw. Perhaps there was one in the entry hall? We did not thoroughly-"

"It's a door," Olaf declared, cutting the others off.

"What?" Gabriel asked, bristling at being interrupted by the younger marine.

"It's a door," the Space Wolf shrugged. "I can smell the stale air on the other side of it."

"It's a solid wall," Orrus argued, slapping the stone with his armoured palm.

"No," Rane muttered, leaning close to the stone. "Olaf is right. It is a door."

"How can you tell?" Orrus scoffed.

"These runes," Rane insisted, pointing to a series of what appeared to be random lines and dots.

"They're ancient Eldar."

Orrus growled his displeasure as Gabriel spat again. Even the silent Corpus and Sister Lucia shifted uncomfortably at the revelation. Olaf, however, burst out laughing again.

"That's twice now the squirt's impressed me!" he shouted, his booming laughter echoing down the passage. "Does it say how to open it?"

"If you would be silent a moment I could read it and tell you," Rane muttered irritably. "This writing is old. It is actually a combination of the Eldar language and the local ancient script, so it is difficult. However, if I am reading this correctly…"

Rane reached down near the floor and nudged a slightly raised section of the wall three times in quick succession. At first nothing happened, but after a moment the wall slid smoothly downwards with a rumbling sound of rock grinding on rock.

"Impressive," Lucia admitted as Rane stepped into the new room.

"The lad's got a good head on his shoulders, and a giant pair to match," Olaf laughed, following the Inquisitor.

Before they could even begin to examine the room's interior there was a popping sensation felt in their minds rather than physically, and the vox exploded to life, bolter fire echoing down the halls from outside.

"Contact left! Contact left!" one of the sisters shouted.

"Stand firm and-" another began, her voice cutting off into a strangled shriek before her link went dead.

"What in the Emperor's name is that thing!?" a panicked voice asked, sporadic bolter fire punctuating her question.

"Stand firm!" Potens' booming voice commanded. "You are servants of the Emperor of Mankind! Act like it! It is just one creature!"

Orrus looked back the way they had come, clearly wanting to be out there fighting against his Chapter's old enemies.

"It must be a Lictor," Orrus growled. "Or some variation of. We need to hurry. Is the target close?"

"Very," Rane nodded, turning back to the room they had opened. "We're in his tomb now. We must have broken the psychic barrier when we opened the tomb."

Gabriel's light flashed across the room, coming to rest on a skeleton in black robes, the helm and sword from the murals both resting at his side. Around the room were scattered beautiful gilded plates covered in black dust; what must once have been the offerings to the tomb's owner when he had been interred. Old weapons of human design, preserved in the airless tomb, still glinted in racks along the walls beneath shields with the heraldry of the local tribes etched onto them. All of this centred around the raised dais, on which the skeleton lay at rest.

"Is that…" Lucia breathed, her unvoiced question reverent in tone.

"An Eldar Farseer," Rane said excitedly. "Or his corpse, rather."

"This is what we came here for?" Olaf asked, confusion evident in his tone.

Rane shook his head.

"No, we came here for the helm," he explained. "It's xenos technology that is supposedly able to amplify psychic powers."

"Then it is a good thing we came to destroy it before the Tyranids could take it," Gabriel declared, his voice steely as he stepped forward.

"What!? No!" Rane shouted, shocked. "Our mission is to take it back with us! Think of what we could do with it!"

Gabriel stopped as Rane rushed ahead of him, lifting the black helm from the skeleton and clutching it protectively to his chest.

"It is xenos filth," the Apothecary growled. "It must be destroyed in the Emperor's name. To use it would make us no better than the creatures that tore this world apart!"

"We are under orders to retrieve this relic!" Rane argued. "With it we can track the Hive Fleet's movements! We can prevent this from ever happening again! We do not have time to argue!"

"And damn your souls in the process!" Gabriel roared, finally snapping. "The end does not always justify the means, Inquisitor Acerbus! Give me the helm so that I might destroy it or I will take it from you and save your pitiful soul weather you want me to or not!"

Rane shook his head defiantly, stepping back until his hip bumped the dais that the skeleton lay on. Gabriel glared down at the Inquisitor, the fire of conviction in his eyes making it clear that he wasn't going to back down.

Apothecary Gabriel took one heavy step forward, his hand coming up slightly before his face disappeared in a shower of bone and brain matter. Behind him Corpus impassively lowered his bolt pistol, a thin wisp of smoke still rising from the barrel.

"Problem solved," the Flesh Tearer rasped. "Let's go."

"Heresy!" Orrus exploded, his bolter snapping up to point at the other Deathwatch marine. "Are you mad!? He was our battle brother!"

Corpus shook his head, bringing his pistol to bear on Orrus now, too.

"Not a Flesh Tearer, not my battle brother," he growled menacingly. "You are pointing that the wrong way. The enemy is outside, Ultramarine."

Olaf stood watching with a feral grin on his face, kneading the grip of his axe expectantly while Lucia subtly placed herself in front of Rane to protect him. Internally Rane cursed; he should have expected something like this from the Flesh Tearer, but Olaf's antagonistic nature had distracted him, forcing his attention elsewhere. The Flesh Tearers had a well-earned reputation for brutality towards their allies, and Rane hated himself for turning a blind eye to the time-bomb in the squad's midst in favour of expedience.

"Enough!" Rane shouted. "We have already lost too many today! Put your weapons down!"

Orrus' red visors snapped over to glare accusingly at Rane as the marine lowered his weapon.

"I will follow our orders," the Ultramarine declared slowly. "But I agree with Brother Gabriel. Nothing good will come of that xenos relic. Destroy it for all our sakes."

With that Orrus spun on his heel, stomping back into the hallway and into the darkness towards the entrance.

"Well, that was awkward," Olaf chuckled, leaning his axe on the ground.

Rane let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, sagging a little as his adrenaline faded. He was exhausted, but now that he had found the Helm of Ulthwe his efforts and the lives of the Sororitas and Apothecary Gabriel felt vindicated.

"That is… what we were seeking?" Lucia asked quietly, reminding Rane where he was.

Olaf and Corpus were both looking expectantly at the Inquisitor, silently asking if the xenos helm was really worth what they had endured, waiting for his response.

"It is," he said. "And with it we can ensure that the Tyranids never claim another planet again."

"A bold claim," Olaf pointed out. "But like the late Apothecary said, will the ends justify the means?"

"If it means not one more world burning then I will personally damn my soul to use the relic," Rane declared solemnly.

"Good enough for me," Olaf decided, flipping his axe back up and onto his shoulder.

Corpus nodded his agreement, and both Deathwatch marines followed Orrus' path back to the jungle. Lucia waited patiently, silent and unquestioning while Rane cast one more glance around the tomb.

He looked over at the body of Apothecary Gabriel of the Angels of Absolution before they left, lying face down on the floor of the tomb and committed the scene to his memory. He never wanted to forget the result of differing viewpoints aiming to achieve the same goal.

Almost as an afterthought Rane carefully tucked the helm into a pouch at his hip, his gaze coming to rest on the sword still lying on the dais. He grabbed it, the weapon feeling impossibly light in his grip as he slung the sheathed xenos weapon over his armoured shoulder.

As Rane Acerbus left the tomb with Sister Lucia on his heels he wondered idly just how long Apothecary Gabriel's light would shine in the darkness.

* * *

Rane came out of the temple into the dimly lit dead-area around the jungle, looking around warily. Potens stood off to one side of the entrance with Orrus, while Olaf and Corpus waited on the other with the surviving Sisters between them. Of the eight that had been left outside only five now remained, whatever bio-form that had been hunting them having already claimed three victims.

"I was right," Orrus reported icily. "One Lictor strain; a Deathleaper."

Rane nodded as Lucia fell in with her sisters. The Inquisitor blinked and opened a direct line to the pilot servitor of his Thunderhawk. A quick burst of information showed that three small attacks had been made against the craft, all of which had been repelled with its dorsal guns. With a quick binary command Rane ordered it to do a hot pickup; if there was a Deathleaper in the jungle there was no way that the squad would make it back to the drop zone with their cargo alive.

"The Thunderhawk is inbound," Rane said after closing the link. "All we need to do is hold out until-"

The rest of his sentence was cut off as one of the Sisters screamed, a massive scything talon appearing through her chest in an explosion of blood and bone. The air behind her shimmered and a Tyranid form appeared, crouched and preparing to strike again. A second talon descended from an appendage reaching over the creature's shoulder at Corpus, but Olaf caught the blow on his axe and turned it aside.

"Kill it!" Orrus roared, opening fire on full auto and spraying explosive shells at the Deathleaper.

The knot of thick, fleshy tentacles hanging from the creature's maw twitched in irritation as it swung the body of the sister still hanging on its scythe around, blocking the fire as it blinked out of existence again, taking the body with it.

"How does it keep doing that!?" one of the sisters cried shrilly.

"Silence!" Lucia snapped.

Rane drew the long sword from over his shoulder with one hand as he gripped his remaining pistol in the other, the pale Eldar wraithbone gleaming in the moonlight. Orrus watched this and started chanting in High Gothic again while Potens looked on with grim fascination. Their attention was taken elsewhere, though, as Corpus stomped a few paces towards the jungle.

"I am fury! I am wrath! I am death!" Corpus roared, his rough voice echoing around the empty night as he stepped away from the others. "For my brothers on Cretacia! Come at me, creature!"

"Fool!" Orrus shouted. "Do you want to die!?"

"Prepare yourselves! He is baiting it!" Rane snapped, readying his weapons and watching for the familiar shimmering in the air.

The moment stretched on, the only sound being the soft mournful howling of the wind and Corpus' enraged breathing. Rane watched carefully, the fine hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as he suffered under the feeling of being watched. Olaf sniffed a few times, his head whipping back and forth and the charms and fetishes in his hair clattering softly against his armour.

Just as Rane was about to suggest they back into the ziggurat and hold position there Orrus let out a startled yelp that turned into a grunt of pain.

The Deathleaper appeared behind him, clinging to the stones of the ziggurat as both scything limbs lashed out at the Ultramarine. The first had bounced harmlessly off Orrus' thick armour, but the third buried itself in his black chest plate, knocking him off balance. With its back-swing the Deathleaper sent Potens sprawling, the Imperial Fist cursing loudly as he rolled back up to his feet.

Roaring more in rage than pain Orrus grabbed hold of the Deathleaper's appendage, spraying more shots up at it as the others turned and opened fire on the creature too. Without a shield these shots hit the Deathleaper, its thick chitin splintering as it wailed in pain, flashing out of existence in a short hop that brought it to a stop just in front of Rane.

The Inquisitor brought his appropriated sword up and lashed out with the light weapon, severing the first of the scything limbs even as the second drove its way through his stomach. Rane ignored the alarmed cries of Lucia and her Sisters as he dropped his pistol and struggled to stop the Tyranid from doing more harm by sinking its scythe deeper into him, stabbing almost blindly with his delicate Eldar sword. The Deathleaper wailed again as Orrus and Potens opened fire into its back, Corpus charging across the space with a below and his chainsword held high.

Rane gasped as the Tyranid was pulled back from him, Olaf holding his axe one-handed as the other spun the bigger Deathleaper through the air and slammed it into the stones of the ziggurat. Before the creature could teleport again Corpus was on it, carving the wounded creature up with his chainsword and baying like a man possessed.

The Inquisitor fell backwards, his ruined power armour malfunctioning and his legs too weak now to hold him up. The injury didn't seem to be too deep and hadn't completely pierced his torso, but from the blinding pain in his stomach something important had been ruptured. Lucia was at his side in an instant, the rest of her remaining squad creating a circle around them.

"Damn the Flesh Tearer for killing the Apothecary," she muttered, pulling a small field aid kit from her thigh pouch.

Rane laughed weakly, propping himself up and watching as Corpus lifted the Deathleaper's corpse and flung it bodily back towards the jungle with an animalistic snarl. As he watched the dust settling around the Deathleaper's corpse he noticed, with a sinking feeling, the jungle violently shaking around the periphery of the dead area.

"Oh for the love of the Emperor, what now!?" he groaned as Lucia pressed a trauma patch to his exposed abdomen.

"Contacts!" Orrus shouted, looking at his auspex. "Hundreds… thousands… We're completely surrounded."

"Ha! Surrounded? I like to think of it as a 'target rich environment'!" Olaf declared before turning to Corpus. "First one to a hundred kills gets bragging rights!"

The Flesh Tearer reached up and removed his helm, revealing a bald head criss-crossed with old scars as he grinned at the other marine, the moonlight reflecting off Corpus' fangs.

"I think I'm starting to like you, Space Wolf," Corpus rasped, raising his chainsword in a salute.

Rane waved Lucia off, struggling back to his feet and propping himself up with the Eldar sword.

"The Thunderhawk is two minutes out," he announced, his voice weak as painkillers flooded his system.

"Plenty of time!" Olaf snarled as the first of the Tyranids burst from the trees, racing to meet them.

Corpus let out a chilling roar as he followed the Space Wolf, leaving the other two Deathwatch and the Sisters of Battle to cover them.

"Fools," Orrus muttered in amazement as he started shooting at the mass of encroaching Tyranids. "Absolute fools…"

"Cover the flanks!" Rane shouted over the gunfire. "Leave the centre to the Sisters!"

Orrus growled something in High Gothic that Rane was pretty sure included a slur on the Inquisitor's mother, but moved to follow his orders and began to mow down the Tyranids on the left flank, leaving a silent Potens to defend the right.

Lucia and her remaining sisters shot around Corpus and Olaf, both marines laughing and apparently having the time of their lives as they tore through the horde of Tyranids spewing from the jungle with their melee weapons. Rane watched as Corpus bent down and tore the throat out of one of the larger hormagaunts with nothing but his teeth before spitting the hunk of xenos flesh away, much to Olaf's booming approval.

"We can hold them!" Lucia shouted to her battle sisters. "Focus your fire! Funnel them towards the Deathwatch!"

Rane stepped forward and joined their shooting, his pinpoint shots felling another creature with each pull of his trigger. He didn't know how long he could keep the pace up, though; his armour's readout blinked red just about everywhere he looked, warning him that he was going into shock, had been infected with a multitude of different spores, was going to die of blood loss in less than ten minutes… he blinked a quick code, wiping the readout and focusing instead on shooting. His vision was blurry enough without the flashing warning lights distracting him further.

After what seemed like an eternity a bright light appeared over the forest, lines of tracer fire and bolts of heavy las fire tearing into the Tyranids and the forest indiscriminately. Olaf and Corpus both snarled with displeasure as they were forced back towards the ziggurat or risk being hit by their own craft's fire. Rane sagged with relief, almost collapsing, and Lucia had to begin shooting one-handed as she held the Inquisitor up.

"Prepare for boarding!" Orrus shouted over the Thunderhawk's landing jets. "Organized retreat! Wounded first!"

The landing craft sunk into the dirt in the dead-area, its guns hammering away at the Tyranid horde rushing onwards regardless. The hatch on the nose of the craft dropped open, some of the less wounded sisters appearing at the top of the ramp with spare bolters and opening fire. The white armoured form of the single Sister Hospitaller raced down the ramp, ignoring the torrent of weapons-fire as she grabbed the barely conscious Rane beneath the arms and hauled him up to safety faster than he could react, the Sisters of the Bloody Rose all covering them the entire way. Orrus and Potens took up positions on either side at the top of the ramp, covering Olaf and Corpus as they dashed for the safety of the lander.

"Neither of us made the goal!" Olaf complained loudly as their feet rang on the steel ramp.

"There's always next time," Corpus deadpanned, slapping the button that would raise the hatch as they disappeared inside.

* * *

High above the burning world of Targia V Inquisitor Rane Acerbus stood and watched the planet slowly turning from the viewport on board the Inquisitorial cruiser _Pride of Vengeance_.

Rane stood with his hands clasped behind his back, wearing little more than plain grey pants and a stark white hospital robe open at the front, thick white bandages wrapped around his thin torso beneath it. The survivors of his Deathwatch squad and the Celestian Squad Moro had returned to the cruiser nearly ten hours ago now, and all the wounds had been treated. The Helm of Ulthwe was safe in a vault in the depths of the ship, guarded by loyal arco-flagelants imprinted to attack anyone that didn't speak the codephrase known only to himself and the ship's captain within three seconds.

They were preparing to leave the system now, abandoning the world of Targia V to the Tyranids and returning to a safer system. The Adepta Sororitas convent on the surface had officially been wiped out six hours ago, while Rane had still been in surgery. Lucia and the other Sisters, excluding Sister Olivia who was in the med ward with him, and Sister Hospitaller Elle who had been operating on him, hadn't left the ship's chapel since news had passed down to them. Even the wounded Sisters that had come from the convent and waited in the Thunderhawk had chosen to go and pray, rather than wait in the med wing. Hospitaller Elle was apparently dragging them back to the surgery one by one, though; the thought of the slight woman, her head barely coming up to the Inquisitor's shoulders, bodily dragging the wounded Battle Sisters across the ship brought a small grin to Rane's face.

He sighed, his smile fading as he watched the planet burning, trying to organize his thoughts. First and foremost he would need to extend a formal apology for the death of Apothecary Gabriel to the Angels of Absolution; the death of a member of the Deathwatch was no small matter, and a full recount of his last moments would need to be made to the Chapter, as well as his superiors in the Ordos Xenos. No doubt this information would spark hostilities between the Angels of Absolution and the Flesh Tearers, but Rane's course of action was clear in this circumstance. He also needed to petition the Deathwatch for replacement members to the squad; one to replace Gabriel, and another to replace Brother Orrus, who was so disgusted with Rane's acquisition of the Eldar relic that he was cutting his service short and returning to Macragge early, which would mean another formal apology.

Rane glanced up as the door to the dimly lit observation lounge opened, admitting a woman wearing loose blood-red robes. Her shoulder length white hair was cut in the Sororitas' traditional pageboy style, outlining her face and contrasting sharply with the black fleur-de-lys tattooed on her cheek just beneath her left eye.

"Inquisitor," she greeted with a shallow bow, her soft voice giving her identity away.

"Sister Lucia," Rane responded with a polite nod. "Care to join me?"

The Battle Sister nodded, moving slowly to stand at his side and look out the viewport.

The members of Squad Moro would be joining Rane's retinue as shock-troops, much to his Sergeant-at-arms' delight. He had given the Sororitas the option of returning to another convent, but all of the women agreed as one that they would rather serve him to atone for failing their duty to protect Targia V.

"It's horrible," Lucia commented after a moment of silence, her voice breaking.

Rane glanced over at her, surprised to see tears running down her face. He checked the chrono on his wrist before nudging his spectacles back up his nose.

"Keep watching," he instructed the woman.

The decking beneath them gave a soft shudder as weapons discharged, the first of the warheads containing the infamous virus bombs flying towards the planet.

"Exterminatus," Lucia whispered in awe.

Rane nodded as the first of the warheads hit the surface of the planet, a massive plume of flames spreading from the point of impact as the second wave of warheads was fired.

This was the third time that Rane had been forced to order an Exterminatus Protocol, reducing an entire world to a barren wasteland with the use of virus bombs. Their inner-workings were unknown to him except for the very basics, being one of the most closely guarded secrets of the Adeptus Mechanicus on Mars, but essentially the bombs released a deadly virus that was genetically designed to quickly spread and destroy all organic cellular structures it infected, reducing all planetary life, whether flora or fauna, to an undifferentiated organic sludge of biochemicals. This process of cellular decay also produced huge volumes of flammable gases as a by-product, which would later be ignited and turn the atmosphere into a firestorm that would end whatever life may be left. Usually this was an absolute last resort, as it rendered the planet all but inhospitable, but Rane would gladly bear this sin to ensure that the world didn't fall to the Tyranid.

"Thank you, Inquisitor," Lucia said, watching the orange glow spread about the once verdant planet.

They watched the flames spread for a time, the sight almost beautiful from so far away. Rane found himself likening the view to ripples on a pond, and the thought gave him a strange kind of peace.

"Inquisitor, may I ask a question?" Lucia ventured softly.

Rane nodded, never taking his eyes off the planet.

"Why did you take me into that tomb?" she asked slowly.

The slight Inquisitor shut his eyes and took a deep breath before turning to Lucia and looking at her over the rims of his spectacles.

"I asked you to join me for two reasons, Sister," he explained. "The first was that I suspected that the more puritan members of the Deathwatch squad would react the way that they did, however I was not expecting the scope of the violence that occurred to become so out of hand. In short, I wanted someone I could trust there with me."

Rane trailed off, turning back to the view of Targia V as it burned and fingering the silver Aquila pendant hanging around his neck.

"What was the second reason?" Lucia prompted softly.

Rane stiffened for a moment, organizing his thoughts. This would be a dangerous admission if he wasn't careful, borderline-heresy if he messed up badly enough.

"I wanted you there as a reminder of my faith," he admitted quietly. "Many would say I crossed a line in that tomb. Many more would say I crossed that line years ago. I… wanted you there to remind me that I was still human, like you."

Lucia nodded slowly before reaching over and clasping Rane's shoulder tightly.

"You do the Emperor's work, Inquisitor; let none tell you otherwise," she said, the strength of the conviction in her voice surprising Rane a little. "The ends may not always justify the means, but… if you believe that you can stop another calamity like this from occurring, then you were justified in that tomb."

He smiled slightly and nodded, still watching the flames envelop another planet, and swearing that this was the last one that would die under his watch.


End file.
